Chapter 10

10

Rogue

R ogue took a deep breath, his hands poised on the keyboard.

Time to see if you’re as good as you think you are.

Standing behind him, so close that he could smell the man’s sweat—an old, rancid smell clinging to his shirt—was Oscar Aguilar.

Whereas the other two drug dealers had moved away, gotten themselves a bottle of whiskey and several glasses, and spent hours talking shop as though there was nobody else in the room, the older man had remained fully alert, never taking his eyes off Rogue for more than a few seconds at a time. Despite the deal he’d made, Aguilar was clearly uncomfortable giving up key locations and contacts for his business.

Rogue hit the enter key and leaned back in his chair. “It’s done,” he announced grandly. For a long instant, nothing happened on the screen.

“What’s going on? Why isn’t it working?” Aguilar asked. The threatening note in his voice brought Cruz over.

“Rogue?”

“Relax,” Rogue said, hoping he was telling the truth. “It’s just taking a second to refresh. We should be able to see the entire operation—at least the parts you’ve shared with me—shortly.”

“You’d better pray that’s true,” Aguilar hissed. Rogue waited until the screen flashed, then clicked into the map view.

“Select any one shipment, of the ones we’ve got in progress,” he explained, his tone neutral, as if he were talking about a shipment of pineapples. “And you can see its exact movement, weight, temperature. Anything you want to know, you just click and, voilà .” he continued, demonstrating what he meant.

Miguel was the first one to respond. “ Joder. Me encanta. ” Fuck. I love it.

“I knew you would figure this out, Rogue,” Cruz said, his words slightly slurred. Rogue wondered just how much alcohol he’d had. His breath stank to high heaven.

Only Aguilar remained still, his face frozen, like stone.

“ ?Lo ves, óscar? I told you he could do it.”

Finally, the man nodded. “You were right, Emiliano. Now you have what you wanted. If it’s alright with you, I would like to see my bride.”

Rogue kept his smile firmly in place, though the words were like a knife to his gut. There was no way he was going to let his man put his hands on Beatriz—no matter what.

“First, we eat dinner. We celebrate. You will have plenty of time with her tomorrow and the day after.”

“You’ve told her she’s coming back with me?” Aguilar insisted.

Cruz shook his head. “ Paciencia, óscar. Paciencia. Beatriz needs to be treated with care.”

“Maybe that’s the problem, Emiliano. You and Ricardo have always coddled her too much. Maybe it’s time she had a real man in her life.”

“Careful, Oscar. That sounds a lot like an insult.”

Oscar raised his hands. “An observation, is all.”

“If you’re done arguing about pussy, I’m really hungry,” Miguel said vulgarly.

Both men turned to look at the younger man, their expressions frozen for a moment. Then they started laughing, hard enough that their bellies and cheeks shook.

Bea

The oysters tightened noticeably in their shell as the first drops of spiced lime juice touched them. Sitting across the table from her, Aguilar picked up the closest mollusk shell, holding it between his thick thumb and forefinger, and proceeded to stab at it with a tiny fork before bringing it to his mouth. Slurp. Down it went. Bea shivered, struggling to hide her revulsion.

Aguilar dropped the now empty shell on the growing mountain on his plate and picked up another oyster. “You’re not eating,” he observed. His voice was soft, but there was no hiding the menace behind it.

His voice made Bea want to crawl under the table. Once, many years earlier, her father had taken her to visit Aguilar’s hacienda . She’d been left out on her own for hours while the men talked business inside. At the time, she’d had no idea what her father did for a living, no idea where the money came from to buy her clothes, her expensive toys, her pony. She’d been so na?ve. So foolish.

While exploring the grounds, she’d found a stray dog. She’d been lonely, and in need of a friend, and she could swear, just by looking at the dog, that he felt the same way. She’d made the mistake of feeding the dog with food she’d taken from the dining room. She’d foolishly thought she was helping the animal, but instead Aguilar had seen the animal, tied him in his courtyard, and proceeded to beat him half to death with a stick.

Bea remembered the animal’s anguished howls—remembered running as fast as her short legs would allow and placing herself between Aguilar and the dog. For an instant—an instant stretched into eternity—she’d been sure Aguilar was going to strike her, too. She’d seen, in the line of his shoulders and in the narrow slits of his eyes, how much he wanted to hit her. Then her father had arrived and whisked her away. The next morning, when they’d left, the dog had been nowhere to be found.

Bea had never forgotten the look in Aguilar’s eyes. She wanted to crawl under the table, but knew, instinctively, that showing fear was the wrong choice. And yet, does it matter how proudly and bravely a rabbit chooses to stand, when an eagle is swooping in? She squared her shoulders and looked up. It mattered to her. And she was done cowering.

“I don’t eat oysters,” she said. “I like my food dead.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aguilar said mildly, stabbing another mollusk with his fork. He looked knowingly at her uncle, who cleared his throat uncomfortably.

It’s done. He’s giving me away to Aguilar. All Bea’s fears rose to the surface, until she was sure she was going to vomit all over the white tablecloth.

“We don’t have oysters like these in Australia,” Rogue drawled. Bea looked up in surprise at his accent, which was thicker than she’d ever heard it before.

“These are Santa Catarina Oysters, flown here straight from Brazil,” Cruz said, his chest puffing out in pride. “The sweetest, meatiest oysters in the world.”

Bea clenched her teeth together and stared at her plate as the slurping continued. Stay still. Never do anything to call attention to yourself.

Alicia, her father’s old housekeeper, had been the first one to offer Bea that bit of advice in the weeks after her father passed away, when her uncle had pulled Bea out of school and taken over the household. Bea had taken it to heart, recognizing the truth in those words, particularly after the woman had been dismissed and sent away, her only crime that she’d been too kind to an orphan girl.

The less her uncle saw of her, the safer she was. Tears rose to her eyes, and she blinked them furiously away. She’d foolishly assumed she could stay safe if she stayed under his radar. But there was no staying safe. She’d never been safe with her uncle. You don’t deserve to be safe. Not when you’ve remained quiet for so long, knowing what you know.

Finally, the slurping stopped and the mountains of mollusk shells were cleared from the table. Moments later, the main course arrived, a beautiful branzino fish, with fingerling potatoes and cherry tomatoes. Her uncle was going all out to impress his associates.

Bea took a small slice of fish and cut into it under her uncle’s attentive gaze. Her stomach clenched. For once, she wasn’t hungry.

“This is delicious, Emiliano,” Rogue said. He’s going all out tonight, sucking up to my uncle as if there’s no tomorrow. Bea didn’t stop to ask herself why it bothered her. Most people sucked up to her uncle. Yet, somehow, when Rogue did it, it felt different. She hated it—wished she didn’t have to be here to see it.

“Do you like hunting, Rogue?” Aguilar asked.

Rogue chewed the food in his mouth calmly, then swallowed before replying. “Hunting?”

“Those assholes from the government have made it illegal to hunt jaguar, but there are still options out there. Imagine a cougar head hanging on your living room wall. We could make it happen,” he added, looking engagingly at Emiliano, who nodded, as if this was indeed a great idea. Bea’s stomach rebelled. She swallowed hard to keep the food down.

Rogue put his cutlery down calmly. “Thank you for thinking of me, but I don’t like guns,” Rogue said mildly. The three men laughed, as if the statement were cause for great mirth. Aguilar gave Rogue a disdainful look. “My work here is almost done. I’ll be leaving this weekend, unless there is anything else that needs to be done, Emiliano.”

Bea’s ears perked up. This weekend. That’s only three days away. Her heart beat hard against her chest. She lowered her head, concerned that the four men would be able to detect her agitation. She needn’t have worried. The men continued their conversation as if she weren’t there. That was good. It was the best she could hope for in her current situation, though Bea wondered what it would feel like not to want to be invisible all the time.

“You should smile more, Beatriz,” Aguilar suddenly said. Bea didn’t look up but gripped the fork in her hand tighter. She had a clear vision of what it would feel like to leap across the table and stab him with the fish fork in her hand, hard enough for the sharp silver points to embed themselves in his neck. She shook her head to clear away the image.

This wasn’t right. This isn’t who you are. “May I be excused, Uncle Emiliano?” she whispered. “I’m not feeling well.”

Her uncle nodded quickly, looking almost relieved. His expression struck fear in her heart, because she had a good idea what it meant.

The last thing she heard as she backed out of the room was Aguilar’s throaty promise, “Tomorrow, we will talk, Beatriz.”